


Ked's Supernatural TV Tumblr Ficlets

by Kedreeva



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Askbox Fic, Gen, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 21:00:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13644333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva
Summary: A collections of the miscellaneous tumblr ficlets scattered around my tumblr.





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

The following works of fiction are taken from [my tumblr](http://kedreeva.tumblr.com/).

The ratings and warnings per chapter may vary, so please read the chapter summaries.

The pairings (if applicable) will be listed in the chapter titles, so that you can find them easier.

I only accept askbox prompts a couple of times a year, when I make a post requesting them.

I am not currently accepting prompts.

I hope you enjoy at least one of these!

* * *

 


	2. Sam & Lucifer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written from [this tumblr post](http://kedreeva.tumblr.com/post/42220271251).

            Sam expected torture. When he jumped into the cage with Lucifer under a firm mental hand and Michael in Adam’s body grasped in both physical hands, Sam had expected torture. He expected to be flayed, to be carved and bruised and burned, to be broken. In the cage he would have been trapped between the two apocalyptic forces he had dragged down with him, both of them with their ire laser-focused on him.

            What Sam expected and what Sam _got_ were two very different things.

            What Sam _got_ … was Lucifer in a blue feather boa. Lucifer in boxers, baked out of his mind, with a blue feather boa and a red and white guitar that was so out of tune it hurt to even look at it. The chords Lucifer struck scraped across his eardrums almost constantly, peeling and harsh.

            What Sam _got_ … was Michael joining in, because Sam almost asked for a different sort of torture, a sort that didn’t involve Lucifer singing out of tune at the top of his lungs as he screeched out mismatched tunes on the guitar. What Sam got was a green feather boa around his neck, with Michael on the other end, and he tried very hard to ignore the fishnets and the out of tune piano in the background and everything around him grated on every nerve he had left.

            The cage was certainly not what he had expected.


	3. Castiel x Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Destiel for myself, as a hello to fandom.

            The day Dean finds him in purgatory is one of the best and worst in Castiel’s memory. He can feel the relief rolling off the human as Dean embraces him, brushes a gentle thumb over his jaw like he doesn’t want to stop touching, like he can’t believe Castiel is real. The sound of his name on Dean’s lips is certainly sweet, but it hurts as well, knowing that he has failed to keep the human safe.

            He’d been so careful for so long, avoiding Dean’s bloody path of destruction through the land. All sorts of creatures had nipped at Castiel’s heels, every bump-in-the-night monster drawn by the light of his Grace, so bright and obvious to them, and Castiel had wanted nothing more than to keep them away from Dean. To give Dean a chance to get home safely, through one of the one-way portals laid for misplaced humans.

            But Dean was not a misplaced human and he was not very good at following the rules on a good day. He hadn’t been heading for a portal, even though Castiel had made sure someone that knew of them had found Dean. Instead, Dean was on a warpath toward Castiel and there was only so much running the angel was willing to do when all he wanted was to see the persistent again. He knew Dean, knew that the man would not rest until he found Castiel or all of purgatory had been destroyed. He would not even consider going home until he had Castiel with him again.

            The problem is that Castiel knows he is not leaving purgatory any time soon. What he had done on Earth required atonement of the sort he could only serve here, amongst the other monsters. Unlike Dean, he deserves to be here, mired in the grey area of right and wrong, until he has earned his place back amongst his brothers and sisters. For weeks he had kept himself away from Dean, only to have Dean show up at the bank of the river he’d been following, saying his name like a prayer, and it was all Castiel could do to set aside his shame and greet him.

            Dean tells him about the portal, about how they are going home together. Castiel makes a weak attempt to explain why it won’t work, how dangerous it is to be near him, but he can tell Dean doesn’t want to hear it. None of it will register with the stubborn human because even Castiel can see he’s made up his mind. So Castiel agrees to go with him across purgatory, to try to go through the portal.

             _ _When humans want something really, really bad, we lie.__

            Castiel can feel the echo of it across his Grace, how much better Dean feels just having Castiel near him again, and he cannot chase away the guilt that comes with that knowledge. He cannot bring himself to abandon Dean again, not here. Already he has accrued a list of crimes to atone for; adding the indulgence of enjoying Dean’s company one last time won’t really make a difference. Not anymore.

            Dean doesn’t help, doesn’t make it any easier to think about walking away.

            In fact, it is the warm feeling of Dean leaning against his arm at night that slowly breaks Castiel. It is a ritual the human picked up from his odd traveling companion, hunkering down for the darkest pitch of night, when Dean can’t even see his own feet if he stands. Benny taught him to sit at the base of a tree, shoulders touching, so that if the vampire saw anything coming he could simply nudge Dean’s arm instead of giving away their location with a vocalization.

            So Casitel knows why Dean does it.

            That doesn’t make it any easier to bear.

            Of course Castiel lets him, because even though he can see much better than Dean, even though he doesn’t need the human’s protection, the gesture is too much of a comfort to dismiss. There will not be much comfort in Castiel’s life once Dean has stepped through the portal, and he knows it, has accepted it. So he lets Dean lean against him, soaks up the feel of the only bright soul in this dismal land, and tries not to think about what comes after.

            Every day ends closer to the portal, closer to losing Dean. Castiel knows exactly where the portal is, has known it from the start. He knows there are other exits, meant for his kind to use should they land here by accident, and he knows that he could have moved himself to one at any time, stepped through and back to Earth or Heaven. God never intended his children to be trapped amongst the monsters. Always the angels can find their way home again.

            It should be a comfort, then, but it just means that Castiel is acutely, painfully aware of their proximity to the portal Dean can use, knows that they will reach it tomorrow. He knows that Dean will want him to go through and he knows that he will push Dean through alone if he has to, and then Dean will be gone. He knows, too, that it may be longer than Dean’s remaining lifespan before Castiel is done repenting.

            That last night, when the darkness is complete and Castiel feels Dean take a seat beside him, feels him stretch his legs out alongside the angel’s, lean his arm against his, Castiel gives up his fears. He does something he has seen humans do before, dropping his hand down to Dean’s where it rests upon his thigh near his obsidian blade.

            Dean starts just enough to lift his hand, just enough that Castiel can slip his hand underneath, thread his fingers through Dean’s. Neither of them say a word and Dean doesn’t pull away. Instead he puts his head back against the tree trunk and gives Castiel’s hand a little squeeze, almost as if he  _ _knows__.

            Though he doesn’t close his eyes, Castiel puts his head back as well, listening to the beat of Dean’s heart, the draw of his breath, relishing the calloused hand entwined with his. For just a moment Castiel thinks can understand why humans perform this ritual. There had not been many solid things on to which Castiel could hold in his life but he is so grateful to Dean for being one of them, even for just this short while.

            So Castiel holds Dean’s hand through the dark of night and does his best not to think about how when light returns to the world… he will have to let go forever.


	4. Dean & Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John forgets Dean's birthday, but Sammy doesn't.

            The outskirts of Ligonier, Indiana are deserted when they arrive midday. Sam’s nose is pressed to the window, taking in the countryside as it morphs into a semblance of civilization. Dean’s in the backseat beside him, arm propped on the slim ledge of the window, staring up at the clouds and not really listening to Sam as he reads off all the signs they see along the way and thinking he should maybe get Sam a book to read instead. Sam’s excited about something, because his voice keeps jumping high over some of the signs he reads and he keeps looking over his shoulder at Dean, but Dean can’t bring himself to ask. Not with their father in the car.

            If the motel isn’t the best they’ve ever been to, it’s not the worst either. There is a real fridge, not just a mini-fridge, and the two twins have thicker comforters than usual which means even though it’s January and dreary and frigid, Sam and Dean will both be warm at night. It means that Dean won’t have to kick Sam out of his bed in the middle of the night when Sam tries to pile both sets of blankets on one bed and join him.

            “Hey Dad,” Sam asks as soon as they are in the door. “Can we go to that nice diner tonight? The one by the Subway?”

            “Not tonight, Sammy,” John tells him absently as he checks the windows, Dean at his heel with a carton of salt. “You know we’re here for work. I have to go out again.”

            “But just for the night, right?” Sam inquires, insistent. “You’ll be back tonight?”

            The father sighs and Dean rolls his eyes because Sam just doesn’t get it. Their dad has _important_ things to take care of and family dinners rate pretty far below the lives he is going to save. “No, Sam. I’ll be home in a week or so.”

            Sam pulls a face, because _this_ isn’t _home_. This is a motel room. Their home has four doors and four wheels and their names carved into her since the day they claimed her as their own. Their home is long stretches of open roads and clear starry skies and the smell of leather and gunsmoke. But he lets it go because he is trying to make a point.

            “Can’t you stay one night? Today is-”

            “No, Sammy, I can’t stay one night,” his father reprimands sharply. Sam frowns and will not meet his eyes and so he turns back to checking the room over for safety. Dean remains silent, pouring the salt and wishing they wouldn’t argue. Not today. “There are lives at stake here. Dean will make you dinner.”

            Though Sam scowls, he lets it drop and watches them disappear into the second room. Then he ducks back to the doorway, to where his father dropped his bag, and fishes out his father’s money clip. He isn’t sure how much he’ll need, so he strips off the first three bills and stuffs them quickly into his pocket before John and Dean can return. He is sitting perched on the edge of the armchair awaiting them when they are finished, and he listens intently as John gives Dean instructions. Don’t leave the room unless it’s an emergency. Don’t let Sam out of your sight. Make sure both of you eat. Don’t answer the door or the phone unless it rings once first.

            Sam has heard the lines a million times, or at least it feels like it. He doesn’t know why their dad has to tell them every time. If he’s sick of hearing them he can’t imagine how Dean must feel having to follow them.

            “I’m going out,” Sam announces the moment he can no longer hear the growl of the Impala’s engine. Dean is on his feet in a heartbeat, moving for the door before he can even think about why he’s moving for the door.

            “No, you’re not,” Dean tells him firmly, blocking the way. “You heard Dad. We’re staying here until he gets back.”

            Sam makes a face at his brother. “I’ll be right back, Dean,” Sam sighs, rolling his eyes. “I just want to stretch my legs. We were in the car for _two days_.”

            “Then I’m going with you,” Dean declares.

            “Dean!” Sam whines. “I don’t need a _babysitter_ to walk around the motel. I’ll be _right back_. I _promise_ , okay?”

            Though Dean’s brows knit as he stares, his lips pursed, he decides that Sam can probably survive a walk around the motel by himself. Especially since Dean intends to stand in the doorway and watch him anyway, regardless of what Sam wants. Their dad would have his ass if he did anything else.

            “Fine.”

            The way Sam’s face lights up in a smile is reward enough for Dean. He steps to the side and allows Sam past. His brother slips out the door and begins trotting along the narrow sidewalk that rings the motel, past the numbered doors, heading in the direction of the front desk. It doesn’t sit well with Dean when he rounds the corner and disappears from sight, but how much trouble can Sam get into just walking around the building.

            When ten minutes comes and goes, Dean begins to get nervous. He fidgets for another moment or two before scowling. The complex isn’t _that_ big. Sam should be back, or at least back in sight. He knows better, he knows the sort of things that roam the world, especially because everywhere they go takes them _toward_ the things which go bump in the night. So Dean shoves his hands in his pockets and closes the door behind himself and takes off in the opposite direction Sam had taken. If he was really going around the building, he would intercept him. If not, he’d figure that out quickly enough.

            After a full circuit of the complex, Dean is furious. Sam is nowhere to be found, their dad won’t answer the phone, and none of the people he’s seen around the complex seem to have ever seen Sam at all. Not walking around the complex, not leaving the complex- it was like Sam just disappeared and Dean couldn’t remember whether what they are there to hunt could do something like that. He was going to be in a lot of trouble.

            When he flings open the motel room door, the first thing he smells is smoke, the acrid tang of lit matches assaulting him. He doesn’t even close the door, just dashes inside, panic gripping his innards, stumbling into the main room to see…

            Sammy.

            Sammy on his knees on one of the chairs beside the little kitchen table, Dean’s lighter in his hand as he lights candle after candle. There are at least two dozen brightly colored little cake candles shoved randomly into the crust of the apple pie in front of him. Sam looks over when he hears Dean stop, and the smile on his face disarms any harsh words Dean might have used to scold him. Sam takes a deep breath and his smile closes up a little in embarrassment.

            “I’m sorry I tricked you,” Sam confesses. “I just wanted to surprise you. I got your favorite. There’s ice cream, too.”

            Dean swallows before moving back to shut the front door. Then he slips off his shoes and pads across the room, taking a seat across the table from Sam. He can see now that the candles are not random; Sam has placed them in the shape of a D, for Dean. He is beaming at Dean, completely proud of himself and Dean can’t muster the will to ask where he got the money for this.

            “Thank you,” he murmurs instead.

            Sam passes him a plate and slides a fork across the table to him. Then he looks up, a smile lighting his eyes, and says earnestly “Happy birthday, Dean."


	5. Castiel x Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean says goodbye to hunting at the end of S5, as Castiel watches on.

            Dean leaned up against the front wheel of the Impala, against Sammy’s side of their home, his knees drawn up, his arms draped over them. Head bowed, eyes closed, he murmured softly, barely more than a breath. “Castiel… Cas… I know you’re listening up there. I know Heaven’s probably a mess after what Sammy did. After what I did. All of us. But I know you can hear me, so get your feathery ass down here and tell me what I’m supposed to do now…”

            Beside him on the garage floor, Castiel watched Dean, his heart twisted up in his chest. He couldn’t understand why Dean was upset; he knew a part of it was Sam being gone. There was a bond there that Castiel could practically see connecting them and Sam’s sacrifice had taken a toll on Dean for sure. But that wasn’t what had hurt him today. That wasn’t the reason Dean had sank to the cement. It wasn’t the reason Dean had been crying.

            Castiel wished there were more he could do for the human. He wished that showing himself to Dean would do more good than harm, but he knew it wouldn’t. He knew that if Dean saw him, if Dean thought he had a link back into the hunting lifestyle, that Dean would take it. More than anything, that would hurt Dean. Moving on with Lisa and Ben would hurt, but it would heal, eventually. Dean would mow lawns and teach Ben about cars and learn to make real meals in real kitchens and eat them at real tables and he would remember how much family meant to him, both old and new.

            He would be happy, eventually.

            All of that would be ruined if Castiel showed himself to Dean now, no matter how badly he wished he could give Dean some form of comfort. So instead he simply sat at his side, hoping that Dean would feel his presence, hoping that just being there for him in any sense would be enough to help him through this.

            Dean sighed and Castiel looked over. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Cas. Feels like someone pulled the rug out from under me. Sam’s gone. Ellen and Jo are gone. Bobby won’t answer the phone. I don’t even know if you’re alive still. And Baby…” Dean’s eyes closed.

            That was what this was about, then. The last thread still holding Dean to his old life, and Dean was severing it. Castiel could see the cover for her, sitting atop the hood, and he knew that Dean was putting off the inevitable. He knew that driving the sleek Impala around in such mundane ways as grocery shopping and taking Ben to a friend’s house and going to work was just too much for Dean. She had been his home since he was four years old and so long as he could run his calloused, scarred hands over her wheel, he would never truly leave behind his old life.

            So this was it, then. Dean wasn’t asking Castiel for direction. He was asking, one last time, for an excuse. Asking one last time for Castiel to bring him back into the fold, show him a path back to hunting, back to his old life.

            It was the one thing Castiel could not - would not - give to Dean.

            “I’m sorry,” he whispered, even though Dean could not hear him.

            Dean let his head fall back against the Impala’s wheel well for just a moment longer before he clambered to his feet. Castiel remained where he was, watching silently as Dean unfolded the canvas cover, pulled it bit by bit over the car’s surface. He tucked it into all the right places, made sure it rested smoothly over her. He laid one palm on the edge of her trunk when he was done, eyes tracking over her.

            “Time to rest, old girl,” he murmured softly. “Time for both of us to rest, maybe.”

            Castiel watched him cross the garage, pause in the doorway to the house to look back, one hand on the light switch. Castiel leaned back against the Impala. It was his last chance to show himself to Dean, to let Dean back into his life as surely as he would rejoin Dean’s life. His last chance to save Dean from a life of normalcy.

            He let it pass.

            “Thank you,” Dean said softly. He clicked the switch, taking the light with him when he disappeared into his new home.


	6. Castiel x Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean discuss Castiel's wings. Maybe a little more than just discuss...

          The TV murmured quietly across the room from Castiel where he sat at the small motel room table. He could hear Dean breathing softly as he fought off falling asleep to the drone of the cheesy medical drama of which he was so fond. Sam was in town for the evening, looking into the deaths that had drawn the trio to the small town. The soft sound of a journal page turning drew Dean’s attention to Castiel.

            After a few moments, Castiel noticed that Dean had turned off the television, was just staring curiously at him. Looking up from John’s journal, Castiel met the human’s gaze. Dean’s eyes flicked down, jaw clenching, and Castiel momentarily considered inquiring what was on his mind. Maybe it had to do with the case.

            When Dean spoke it did not, in fact, have anything to do with the case at all.

            “What happens to your wings when you’re all-” he motioned vaguely with one hand. “Vessel bound.”

            Castiel tipped his head, because nothing  _ _happened__  to his wings, he just tucked them out of phase with this world so they wouldn’t get in the way. When he said as much, Dean gave him a dubious look.

            “They go where?” he asked.

            “They do not  _ _go__  anywhere, Dean,” Castiel repeated. “You cannot see them because they are…” He grasped for an explanation that Dean would understand. “On a different wavelength.”

            Dean pursed his lips and stared at Castiel for a moment longer before turning the television back on.

            “You do not believe me,” Castiel observed.

            When Dean attempted to assure him that he did when it was clear he did not, Castiel frowned, because Dean should believe in his wings. Dean had seen their shadows before, when they met. He had seen their shadows several times in purgatory when they were fighting leviathans. However, it was true- Castiel had never shown him the physical manifestations of his wings. So he clambered to his feet and moved to the center of the room, tracking past Dean until he stood between the two queen beds, the only area with enough room. His wings were… rather large.

            Dean was watching him like maybe Castiel was going to smack him upside the head for doubting him but Castiel merely turned to face him. He held his arms open as if to present something to Dean and as he did so he allowed his wings to join him in their phase of reality. Dean’s eyes went wide.

            He kept them folded behind him as they manifested, sleek and black and soft. Dean had always thought that angels had white wings, fluffy wings, but these were nothing of the sort. These were glossy, smooth. They were beautiful but they belonged to a hunter, to a warrior. These were not the sort of wings he would ever have imagined an angel to have, but they looked so  _ _natural__  on Castiel.

            “Satisfied?” Castiel asked flatly.

            Dean swallowed thickly, whatever he might have said sticking in his throat. He recovered enough to sit up, his eyes flickering over Castiel, trying to soak up the image because a part of him hadn’t really believed the angel had literal wings. When he met Castiel’s eyes it was with an unspoken question, the sort of question he didn’t have to ask. Castiel just  _ _knew__.

            Slowly, mindful of the beds, Castiel extended one obsidian wing, curling it forward to encompass the corner of the bed, close enough for Dean to examine it. Close enough for Dean to touch, even though he shouldn’t, even though he didn’t know he shouldn’t. Another angel would know better, but Dean was only human, and Castiel didn’t realize he was reaching out until Dean’s palm was soft along the lead edge of his wing, his fingers curling over the top.

            Castiel shivered when Dean smoothed his hand down the underside of his wing because he could feel it right down to his Grace. Dean snapped his hand back, gaze flicking up to Castiel’s face but the angel’s eyes were closed. Castiel had to take a moment because it was too  _ _close__ , too  _ _intimate__ a touch; angels did not touch one another’s wings and certainly never the underside.

          Pulling in his wing, Castiel folded it back behind him, let his wings fade back to a  phase where they could not be seen, where Dean could no longer touch them.

            “I’m sorry,” Dean said softly.

            Castiel’s eyes opened like he was waking up and he fixed Dean with a slightly confused look. “For what?”

            “Touching,” Dean told him. “I should have asked.” When Castiel didn’t respond, Dean shook his head slightly. “Thank you.”

            A brief nod and then Castiel was skirting the edge of the bed, moving back toward the table. As he passed, Dean looked down, caught sight of something on the floor in Castiel’s wake. He reached down, plucking the single sleek, black feather from where it rested. Smiling, he turned to show it to Castiel. “Hey, you dropped one.”

            Taking a seat at the table, Castiel looked over, eyes flicking up and down the long feather. Then he tilted his head, gave him a thoughtful look. “Keep it safe,” he told Dean quietly. “You may need it someday.”

            Dean’s brow furrowed at the comment, but he let it go. “Yeah, whatever man.”

            Despite his attempt to sound disinterested, Castiel did not miss the way Dean cradled the feather for a moment before placing it reverently upon the bedside nightstand. He would later see it nestled in the trunk of the impala, and he would add to the collection when he could. Dean would notice every new addition, would keep count of them. When he opened Baby’s trunk, his eyes would always flicker there first, and Castiel would take comfort in the small smile that twitched so briefly upon Dean’s lips at the sight.

            Castiel would never tell him how much it meant, but somehow, Dean would know.


End file.
